


Like the back of my hand

by Peanutsfan1



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: All ships will be represented here, Bunch of oneshots and drabbles, Gay ships, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nationverse, Popular ships, Rare pairs so rare that you've never even heard of them, Requests are currently not open, Some angst, This is content for those who are content starved, We have ships, Will add more ships and character tags when they've been written, rare pairs, straight ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutsfan1/pseuds/Peanutsfan1
Summary: Imagine that each personification has their soulmate's flag tattooed on their dominant wrist in a heart shape. This tattoo only appears when a personification becomes an independent nation so if a person's soulmate isn't an independent nation, their wrist will be blank. The flag displayed is the current version which updates as the flags change.Now, how would this affect different ships? Would it pave the way for loads of angst? Or would it provide comedy when nations have extremely similar flags? And how would it affect a nation when two separate tattoos appear on each wrist? All this will be explored though many different ships, popular and rare, with one soulmate, or maybe two.Requests are closed for the meantime as I have tons from the Discord server. I will let people know when you can request ships.
Relationships: Denmark/Sweden (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Finland x Sweden (FinSu)

**Author's Note:**

> This first ship was requested by Berwald Oxenstierna, Mollie and Grim on the Nordictalia server. And, as it's Grim's birthday tomorrow, I thought I'd start the series off with this. Happy birthday, Grim!

It consumed his thoughts. Every time Finland glanced at his left wrist; all he could see was that damn tattoo. A heart-shaped Swedish flag. And every time he’d feel guilty. Soulmates weren’t supposed to be like this. I mean, sure the Swede was closer to him than anyone else, being incredibly shy, especially after the nightmare of the Kalmar Union which isolated him from Norway and Denmark. But Finland never felt a strong connection between the two of them. Nothing. Just nothing. Soulmates were supposed to have a connection right?

That was the whole point, wasn’t it?

Sweden wasn’t like Estonia. He couldn’t talk to him about shared traditions and their similar languages. He shared a border with Sweden too, so why did he feel so detached from him?

Sweden wasn’t like Denmark. They couldn’t talk for hours about anything and everything. The most Fin ever got out of him was a small sentence at best.

Sweden wasn’t like Norway. They couldn’t even bond over death metal. No, the man was obsessed with ABBA, death metal wasn’t his thing. Just adds to the list of things they can’t talk about, not that the man talked much anyway.

Sweden wasn’t even like Iceland and those two actually shared a strange connection that none of the others got. Finland could relate to Iceland, both being the youngest Nordics. He could not relate to Sweden. Not at all.

Soulmates are supposed to feel a connection.

Finland feels nothing.

So every time he looked at that damn tattoo his stomach once again sank. But it was out of his control. He didn’t know how to establish a connection with the tall intimidating man and the intimidating nature was a large part of the problem. Finland could usually talk someone’s ear off when he felt like it but talking to Sweden was like talking to a brick wall. Too quiet. Too intimidating. Finland just doesn’t understand why whatever being up there would think they are made for each other.

They’re not.

It’s like some sort of a sick joke.

Laying down on his bed, Finland let out a sigh, casting his mind back to when the cursed thing first appeared. The Kalmar Union had crumbled, Sweden being the first to leave and Fin had decided to tag along with him. What he did not sign up for was this tattoo, an ever-present reminder that Sweden will forever have a soulmate that doesn’t love him back. Before Finland gained independence he tried for centuries to establish a connection with the man. And for centuries he couldn’t.

That wasn’t the worst of it as well.

Without knowing they were soulmates Sweden had joked that Finland was his wife.

That just drove the nail in harder.

Finland believes he will never love Sweden back.

He didn’t deserve this.

Sweden deserved someone who would love him for eternity.

Finland was not that person.

This was hopeless. There wasn’t anything he could do anyway. He couldn’t change how he felt. Moping around on his bed won’t solve anything. Sighing once again (and pulling his sleeve down to cover the dreaded thing), he gets up, and trudges to the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee. As if to make things worse (he is now definitely certain this is all some sick joke), his soulmate is standing at the counter, making the exact thing Finland came in here for. Internally swearing, Fin goes up to him and attempts to grab a mug. Cursed shortness. The situation isn’t made any better when the tall man retrieves the Moomin mug from the shelf and hands it to Finland. ‘Please stop being so fucking nice to me,’ Finland thinks, ‘You’re making me feel worse about everything’.

But then something happens that Finland definitely doesn’t see coming.

Sweden takes Denmark’s mug (known for its massive fucking Danish flag), knowing that Denmark always has his coffee with a shit ton of sugar and dumps teaspoons of salt in the mug instead. ‘Oh my God’. He didn’t think Sve would be the sort to prank another nation, despite things being relatively calm nowadays between the two. ‘I guess you learn something new every day’. Whilst he’s in shock, Norway takes the time to stride in, his blond curls bouncing, a straight expression as always, “Oh, thanks for taking care of the coffee, Sverige. I totally forgot!”

‘So Norway was supposed to be making the coffee?’. Damn, Sweden is good at this. The tall intimidating man catches his glance as Norway walks off with the mugs, and smirks slightly. Only Fin notices. Only Fin sees that small smirk, and the mischievousness hidden behind the stern exterior. And when he hears Denmark’s exclamation of: “What the fuck, Norway! Why is there salt in here!” Only he gets to hear the little snicker the older nation produces.

It’s a new side to Sweden. Something that makes him less intimidating and scary. It’s the first exchange between the two of them that Finland finally realises that Sweden isn’t a brick wall in the slightest.

So what if Sweden wasn’t Estonia? Finland could spend time learning about all his different cultures which may bring him closer to the Swede himself. The first way to learning about a nation is through their people, after all. Having cultural differences only means there is more depth to explore.

So what if Sweden wasn’t Denmark? Great, he talks a lot but after a while you run out of things to add to the conversation whilst Den rages on. He wouldn’t be able to handle being Denmark’s soulmate so maybe the best thing for him would be someone who’s peaceful and quiet. Peace can be nice, after all.

So what if Sweden wasn’t like Norway? The two could find other things to connect over, for example their shared sense of humour and love of pranks.

So what if Sweden wasn’t like Iceland? More years just means he has more history to share once he opens up.

Perhaps Finland was looking at this the wrong way the entire time.

Sweden may possibly be more interesting than all the other Nordics combined.

And they are on the same wavelength for the first time in forever.

No words are spoken.

All they do is laugh and smile.

And Finland finally feels the connection that he’s been searching for.

Maybe the two could be soulmates after all.

Just maybe.


	2. Denmark x Sweden (DenSu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of s*lf harm and s*icide
> 
> This one wasn't really a request per se, but more me finally creating content for one of the rare pairs that I love XD

Denmark had lost track of the days.

Nations often do, but not to this extent. He had no idea whether days had gone by. Whether months had gone by. Whether years had. He had no idea. Not that it would change anything. All he does is lay there, sprawled on the floor, gasping for breaths after sobbing his heart out once more.

If he could feel anything but the heavy weight of sadness, he would have been confused as to why he hadn’t run out of tears yet.

But he couldn’t. So he didn’t.

Nations are immortal. They don’t need food and drink to stay alive like humans do. Sure, it gives them energy, but they don’t require it for survival. How long had it been since Denmark had last eaten? He had no idea. However long ago 1814 was, that’s for sure.

Energy doesn’t matter because Denmark has none anyway.

He had tried to eat and drink when it first happened. He ate and ate all he could until he felt sick (and was). He had tried desperately, desperately to have some taste in the food. To evoke something within him. Some feeling. His efforts were to no avail. His taste buds were numb, just like the rest of him.

So Denmark had given up eating and drinking a long time ago.

There was no point anyway.

How many times had he thrown up by now? He’d lost count. And after the first few he stopped cleaning it up. There was no point anyway. No point in cleaning. No point in eating. No point in doing anything except cry.

He was done.

He hadn’t been done when Sweden stormed out in 1523. Even though that tattoo appeared on his left wrist. He was Denmark, he had to remain positive. ‘This’ll pass’ he thought, ‘I’ll have my soulmate back soon’. Even when decades passed and the two were immersed in conflict, he kept his high spirits. ‘This’ll pass’. And he didn’t have to feel alone. He had his best friend, Norway by his side, the man who he was so close to that he felt like they were brothers. Norway knew the deepest parts of his brain. He understood him. As long as Norway was by his side Denmark could keep his high spirits.

‘Every nation fights once in a while. Soon Sverige will be back with me and we can go back to how things were in the Viking era.’

That day never came.

Days passed. Months passed. Years passed. Centuries passed. Sweden didn’t come back. They didn’t fix this big mess between them. The mess just got messier and Denmark found it harder and harder to remain positive. He stopped convincing himself that Sweden would ever forgive him. He stopped convincing himself that Sweden would one day love him back.

Denmark was beginning to lose his sense of identity. He was the positive one, the one who was always in high spirits. But all that was slipping away, stripping of him of who he was.

And he stopped convincing himself that everything was fine. That he was fine. That Sweden would forgive him and love him back. That he would ever have his friend back.

When Sweden took Norway, Denmark’s high spirits finally collapsed in on themselves. The inevitable had happened – something that had been in the works for years.

He was done.

Denmark was done being happy. The cheery mask he had held onto for so long cracked, leaving him the broken mess he had tried to convince himself he wasn’t.

Who even was he at this point? If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer. He had no idea. 

Why were nation soulmates a thing? All it did was repeatedly stab Denmark in the chest.

He was a pathetic excuse of a nation. Absolutely pathetic.

At this point it wasn’t so much the soulmate situation that bothered him (though that was shitty), no, all he wants is his friend back. They used to be close, back in the Viking era. Now, well, you know what that situation is. He just wants his friend back. But it will never happen.

And he didn’t even know who he was. How could one be a nation without their sense of identity?

Denmark was done. Absolutely and completely done.

And all he wanted was to be human. Humans don’t have soulmates. Humans aren’t immortal.

All Denmark wanted was the sweet release of death.

Then all his problems would go away. Then he wouldn’t need to convince himself that he’s someone he’s not. Then he wouldn’t have a soulmate who hated the very sight of him. Then he wouldn’t feel so alone anymore. Norway understood him. The two kept each other steady. But now Norway was gone, leaving Denmark with all his self-loathing once more.

This situation with Sweden? It was all his fault.

And Denmark hated himself for it.

Nations can’t die. Not by their own hand. Denmark had tried. Constantly.

All he hopes is that if he tries hard enough then finally someone will take pity on him and it’ll work. Then he can finally leave this cursed immortal life.

‘Wishful thinking’, he frowns, grabbing the blood-stained knife besides him once more. ‘Oh well, it’s worth a try’.

He had sent a letter out to Sweden when it first started. All it had read was: _‘Do you think it’s possible to have a soulmate that will never love you back?’_

That was however long ago.

He never got a reply.

Figures.

All he can do was try to end it once more.

*

Sweden had generally been doing alright, aside from Norway barely speaking to him. That was something he expected, to be honest. He’d dragged him from the man he saw as a brother, a confident, someone to rely on. Sweden didn’t let that get him down. He expected that. So he threw himself into other activities. Even if Norway did speak to him, they both knew that they hated small talk with a passion. This situation was fine.

“Sverige. A letter just arrived for you,” And funnily enough, as if summoned by his thoughts, Norway appeared in front of him, holding out the slip of paper. He takes it from him, noticing the spawled ‘Sverige’ on the front. Denmark’s handwriting. ‘That’s strange,’ he thinks to himself whilst prying it open. One sentence long. Not even a name signed.

_‘Do you think it’s possible to have a soulmate that will never love you back?’_

Just that one sentence and patches of the paper that looks like teardrop stains. Teardrops and a strange question from Denmark. After Norway and Sweden had entered a union. Shit. Denmark never writes to him. and he certainly never says these sorts of things. Denmark’s in a bad place right now. He’s sure of it.

It’s not like him to cry. It’s not like him to bring up the fact that they’re soulmates. Sweden thought they’d both shoved that to the back of their minds.

But here was evidence that suggested otherwise.

Sweden knows Denmark. And Denmark’s not fine at all. Not in the slightest.

So, without saying anything he stands up and runs out of the house. He has to get to him. Before he’s too far gone. Sure, Denmark and Norway understand each other perfectly but Sweden can still remember how Denmark’s like when he’s upset. He knows Denmark. And he needs to get to his soulmate’s place as quick as possible.

He ignores Norway’s shouts.

He just runs.

And keeps running.

All the way to the sea.

Then he gets a boat. And sails as quick as he can.

After all that, he finally has arrived outside Denmark’s house. There’s no signs of movement through the windows and Sweden’s heart sinks further. ‘Please be ok’. Trudging up the path, he grimaces at the quietness. Denmark’s never quiet. Not at all. It’s worse than he thought. ‘Please be ok’. He comes up towards the door, frowning once more at the fact that it’s unlocked. No. No no no no no. ‘Please be ok’.

When he’s inside, it’s still quiet. Far too quiet. ‘I thought Iceland was supposed to be living here too?’. The living room. Nothing. Kitchen. Nothing. He treads up the stairs, fearing the worst. Iceland’s room.

Nothin-

Wait. No. There is something. Iceland, curled up in a ball in the far corner, knees clenched to his chest. Sweden isn’t the best at estimating ages, especially a nation’s physical age but Iceland is still approximately under the age of ten. Denmark is nowhere in sight. If there’s anything the nation knew, is that kids need to spend time with those who raised them. And the freckly, crazy haired Danish nation is all for quality time with Norway’s (probably) kid brother. But he’s not here.

“Ice?”

The small kid unfurls, tears leaking from his eyes once he catches sight of the Swede. His hair is tussled, he looks like he’s been wearing the same clothes for days. Young nations can take care of themselves to a certain extent, but Iceland looks like he’s completely out of his comfort zone. He’s incapable of handling whatever this situation is.

He sniffs, “Svi? Is that you?” His voice is strained, as if it hasn’t been used in a while. Sweden’s heart plummets. The kid looks so… helpless. ‘Where the hell is Denmark?’ Getting off the floor, the tiny personification rises, wobbling. After that feat is done, he runs over to Sweden, hugging his legs, tears resuming once more. “I’m so scared, Svi! Dan- Dan-” He trails off, struggling to finish the sentence without crying heavily. “Iceland, where’s Denmark?”

The child grips tighter, burying his face into the much taller and older nation. “He’s been in there for months. He hasn’t come out. He went into his room and never came out, Svi!” Iceland continues to ramble quickly, something about hearing crying and screaming and other things that Sweden can’t catch. “Hey, I’m here now,” He lifts Iceland up into his arms, holding him close and stroking his hair. The rambling stops. “I’m going to go check on Den, ok?” He receives a nod and places the small white-haired nation back on the floor.

*

Seeing Sweden right in front of him was part of a sick joke his mind was playing on him. He couldn’t be here. Sweden didn’t care about him. His mind just wanted to cause him even more pain, just before he tries to lodge the knife in his chest once more. Sweden doesn’t care about him. Not after everything. The man standing in front of him was just a figment of his imagination. He has to be. “It’s not you. Why would you be here? It’s- it’s impossible.”

The Swedish nation’s eyes widen, possibly at Denmark’s state, maybe at the question being asked… Denmark’s not sure. “It is me,” He mumbles, “And I got your letter.” Oh, yes, the unanswered letter. Denmark can’t help but feel bitter, even if Sweden is actually here, what’s he here to do, rub it in? Tell Denmark how little he cares about him?

“Den… what are you doing?” Sweden sighs, observing the state of the room, a clear tone of pity and concern lacing his words. He sits down cross legged on the floor, right opposite Denmark who frowns, the frown a mixture of hurt and confusion. “What am I doing? What I’m doing is trying to get myself out of this cursed life because no one but Norway would care if I died and there’s no point in me living if it’s all just pain for me. No one cares, Sverige, especially not you. And if we’re asking questions then I have one for you, what the fuck are you doing here?” He spits, readjusting the knife in his hand, still craving the sweet release of death.

Sweden sighs once more and reaches out, prying the knife away from Denmark who glares as the bespectacled man sets it down beside him, out of reach. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry, _I’m_ wrong?”

“Ja. You’re wrong when you say only Norway would care if you died. You realise why I’m here? I’m here because I received your letter and was worried sick about you, and I had a good mind to be worried. Not only that, Ice is in the other room, terrified that you’re not ok. You’re wrong.” Sweden’s face softens, watching as Denmark’s eyes widen, slight tears pooling in their corners. The realisation of how people feel about him is sinking in, the guilt surrounding leaving Ice alone weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“Is all this related to that letter you sent me and just us in general?” He nods in response, remaining quiet.

“Look, I- I know things are weird between us right now. But that’s not saying they’ll never change. I can’t promise that I’ll ever love you back, but I can promise that we can fix this mess between us, starting today. We can work to becoming friends again, together. Is that ok?” Another nod. Sweden’s eyebrows furrow at his silence but then decides to pull Denmark in for a hug, who quickly wraps his arms around him, burying his face into the other man’s chest and sobbing once more.

“Let’s get you a drink of water, and then we can talk about this further.”

*

Things started slowly improving after that.

Denmark spent a lot of time working on his mental health and Sweden would come over for long talks about everything and anything, though most of them ended up being Denmark rambling on about a specific topic and Sweden listening intently. But they liked that, and they managed to find ways that worked. Sweden also started letting Norway visit Denmark as well, which he found helped immensely.

And when the humans invented modern day counselling, Denmark made sure he went along, making regular appointments with his therapist (who was sworn to secrecy about his nationhood).

Currently Denmark is just relaxing on the sofa, browsing through his phone. He accidentally found himself in a rabbit hole of Wikipedia pages, no clue how on earth he got to looking at how rockets work but he was there.

“Hey,” Sweden sits down next to him, a box in hand, the other readjusting his glasses. Denmark’s attention drifts away from his phone, smiling at his friend and returning the greeting. “So…” Sweden begins, glancing at the floor, his free hand now fiddling with the ends of his hair, “Today’s a special day.”

Denmark frowns. Even though many things had changed, Denmark was still shit when it comes to what day of the week it was or even what month he was in. Dates never really stuck in his brain anyway. Norway’s always the one who reminds him when he has therapy and when birthdays are, so he’s set as long as Nor remembers the date. He casts his mind back, ‘We’ve had Christmas recently, I think, so that means it’s not that or Fin’s birthday. Nowhere near Nor’s…’

‘What day is it? Why is it special?’

Noting his frown, Sweden allows his mouth to stretch into a tiny smirk in amusement, “Forgot the date again?”

“Ja and it’s fucking pissing me off. What day is it? Why is it special?”

Norway leans on the doorframe, also smirking and Den’s frown only deepens. “It’s Valentine’s day, you dork,” He grins and then leaves the room.

‘Valentine’s day? Why would I care about Valentine’s day?’ He begins to wonder until Sweden shyly slides the box over to him. A box of chocolates. They lock eyes and Denmark’s confused still, so confused. His friend responds with a nervous smile, hand still fiddling with his hair, eyes drifting to the floor and then back to Denmark’s and then back to the floor once more.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Den. I’m sorry I kept you waiting this long.”

It clicks. Denmark’s eyes widen as he realises what this means exactly. He tentatively places his hand on Sweden’s arm, not wanting to spook him or do anything that the man isn’t ready for. Letting out a nervous laugh, Sweden lifts his hand to cup Den’s cheek before bringing their lips together, letting the other nation know that it’s fine to kiss him.

When they part, no words need to be exchanged. All Denmark does is bring his lips back to Sweden’s in a gentle manner, a few nervous giggles from both of them at points.

No words, only hugs and kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously when I wanted to add DenSu to this, I went with the old classic: historical angst XD
> 
> Don't really know what to add except I hope you enjoyed! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot series is dedicated to all of the people on the Nordictalia server. Love you guys and thanks for all your requests, help and enthusiasm. This one's for all of you. Love you guys so so much.


End file.
